Lisa, he's dead, House is dead
by Sweetheart From Hell
Summary: House can't take it anymore, and doesn't give anyone the chance to help him. Spoilers for season 4 finale and some later episodes for seaosn 5, so don't read if you haven't finished it. Major character death! Rating to be safe. I love reviews!


Spoilers for season 4 finale and season 5. Major character death. I love reviews!!!!

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Three full syringes of morphine. A bottle of scotch and a glass. An almost full bottle of vicodin next to it. However, he intended to keep the orange vial that way. Why die slow and painfully of liver failure, if the morphine and booze didn't do the job?

He downed another glass of scotch and shot a sideway glance at Amber, who was smiling absentmindely, and slowly sipping on her own glass.

"I'm not going away, y'know", she suddenly said. House ignored her. "At least, maybe not. You don't actually know if it's going to end or if you'll go back to the bus. To me."

"It ends", House muttered. "It has to. I know it does." Amber laughed.

"No, you don't. If you knew, I wouldn't be saying this because... I am you. I'm your thoughts. I know everything you think."

"Shut up, will you?" He emptied another glass and noticed the bottle was already half-empty. Maybe it was time to move on to the morphine now. He tied the tourniquet around his arm and grabbed the first syringe. Amber started to laugh.

"Didn't you forget something? Like... a note? Explaining why?" House hesitated with the needle a few inches from his arm. He knew she was right. A note for Wilson, telling him why he did this, why he did it right now. Then he shook his head.

"He's never going to forgive me anyway." Amber's smile grew wider.

"Oh? You _really_ think that? Maybe he'll be... relieved? Glad you're finally out of his life, permanently?" House determindly pushed the needle into a vein, trying to ignore Amber's words. Wilson didn't really think that, right? Or did he? He slowly pushed the plunger and quickly withdrew the syringe as soon as it was empty, and grabbed the next one. Soon the morphine would hit and he wouldn't be able to shoot up the rest.

Amber got up and walked over to him, sitting down on the couch at his feet. She wasn't smiling anymore. When House saw her eyes were actually brimming with tears, he smiled and shot up the second dose of the morphine.

"You're going away." He grabbed the third, blinking to stay focused. The drugs were clouding his mind, and he felt drowsy and comfortable. He shot up the third dose and fell back on the couch, the syringe still hanging from his arm. He looked at Amber, smiling. "You're going away." He fought to keep his eyes open, to watch her cry openly. The last thing he heard was her voice whispering "Wilson..." before he was engulfed by the comfortable darkness.

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"Where's House?" Cuddy seemed annoyed as she popped her head into Wilson's office. "He hasn't shown up for work yet, and it's almost noon." Wilson looked up from his paperwork and rubbed the back of his neck. House not at work? Shit. When he'd last talked to House, he'd seemed... not fine, but kind of ok. It had been about 8pm last night.

"Have you called him?" he asked. Cuddy nodded.

"He isn't picking up. I just reach his voicemail all the time, I think he's turned off his phone."

"Oh." Wilson frowned. "I'll go check on him." It probably wasn't necessary, but something told him something wasn't right. The nagging of worry in the back of his head, reserved for House, was suddenly becoming a lot worse. He got up and grabbed his coat. Cuddy left with a "tell him he can't just skip work like this again, ok?", and Wilson felt slightly annoyed that she didn't seem worried. But of course, she didn't know what House had been going through lately.

He hurried to his car and drove to House's apartment as fast as he could without exceeding the speed limit too much. All the time, he tried to call him, both on his cell and home phone. House never picked up.

The nagging worry grew into anxiety, and he parked his car carelessly with one tire on the sidewalk. He practically ran up to House's door, and knocked hard. No response. No shuffling or the thumping of a cane, no shouting that he should use his own key. Just nothing.

"House!" he yelled, giving up knocking and started to search his pockets for the key to House's arpartment. "House!" He found the key and tried to fit it into the lock, trying to force his hands to stop shaking with sheer willpower. Finally he managed to unlock the door, and and went inside. "House?" he called into the dark room. "House, you here?" He took a few steps forward, and - _Oh god now this can't be real this can't be real this isn't happening this can't be right_ -he saw the body lying sprawled on the couch.

He ran to the couch, rouned it, kneeled next to House. He saw the empty syringes on the floor, and the tourniquet still tied around House's arm. He quickly put his hand to House's neck, immediately feeling how cold he was, and tried to feel a pulse he knew wasn't going to be there.

He fell back, his back against the coffee table, hardly feeling the edge digging into his back. All he could do was staring at House, who wasn't House anymore. His best friend was gone. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he should call 911, but what was the use of it? House was already dead. And Wilson thought that he'd never move again, just the thought of reaching into his pocket and taking out his phone seemed exhausting.

First Amber, which he never thought he would survive, and now House. House. House who had survived so much, always pulling through, was now comfortably sprawled on his couch, with a peaceful expression on his face, never to move again.

Suddenly Wilson's phone rang. He startled, and he reached into his pocket and picked it up, answering without thinking.

"How is he?" Cuddy. Of course. He'd gone here to check on House and tell him to get his lazy ass to work. And now Cuddy was wondering why he hadn't returned. "Wilson?"

"He - he -" He felt his throat close up and tears form in his eyes. Saying it would make it real, and he didn't want it to be. He let out a sob. "Lisa, he's, he's -" The tears started to flow and he started to sob uncontrollably. "Lisa, he's dead. House is dead." He heard her shocked gasp, and hung up the phone just as she started saying something. It didn't matter. Nothing she said would change anything.

When she called again, he ignored it. Eventually she'd send an ambulance, and they would take away House's body and get himself back to the hospital to treat him for shock or whatever, but until then, he'd stay just where he was. Sitting on the floor in House's apartment, uncomfortably leaned against the coffee table, staring at the body of his friend.


End file.
